


Clinically Curious

by My_Young_Friend



Category: The Alienist (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Death of an Unborn child, First Time, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/pseuds/My_Young_Friend
Summary: "Sara began to feel a creep of unease. She had visited a great number of crime scenes in her work with Lazlo and the Commissioner, yet the thought of visiting this bedroom was more disconcerting than most. It felt...close. Like a life not lived, but that could have been."A triple homicide hits close to home for Kreizler, Sara and John. Will it pull the team apart or push them closer together?
Relationships: Laszlo Kreizler/John Moore, Sara Howard/John Moore, Sara Howard/Laszlo Kreizler/John Moore
Comments: 27
Kudos: 154
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	1. When you have eliminated the impossible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yeats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeats/gifts).



> With huge thanks to my beta KaraokeGal, without whom this would have had a much less satisfying ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And on what particular aspect of crime are you demonstrating your great experience?” Sara enquired, maintaining her well-practiced poker-face.
> 
> John shot her a look. “That Diana Montrose is innocent of this crime. Women do not kill this way. They do not take guns and shoot people.”
> 
> “And you gather this from your unrivaled contact with women? I’m impressed that you can gather so much about us one hour at a time.”

“Lazlo, I don’t have time to satisfy your every curiosity; did she kill them or not?”

Sara couldn't hear Kreizler's reply, muffled as it was by the door to the Commissioner's office.

“And what exactly should I do with that information? ‘Sorry, Mr Dorner, all the evidence still points to your daughter as a murderer, but did you know she was aware of her husband's affair?’”

The muffled speech continued. 

“I don't _care_ about what happened in the Montroses’ bedroom. What I care about is that influential people in this city are putting pressure on me from all sides to announce that Diana Montrose did not, in fact, kill her husband, her maid and herself. What I care about is you making absolutely sure there is no possibility that something else happened, no tiny loophole through which they can stab me when I close this case. Until you have that for me, you're wasting my time with your presence.”

The door swung open with force as Kreizler swept out of the room and past Sara without even a glance to bid her goodbye. Commissioner Roosevelt seemed to have a unique way of aggravating the good doctor, and Sara resigned herself to getting nothing useful from either of them for the rest of the day.

As she collated the final witness statements and reports, the Commissioner called for her.

“Shut the door,” he snapped as she entered. For the fourth time that day alone she bit back an acerbic comment, doing her best to keep her resentment of being spoken to like a child to herself, beyond a brief grimace. 

“Sara, I need you to keep him on track.” Before she could even agree, Roosevelt barreled on, pacing the room. “The Dorners are everywhere. They have the journals printing every conspiracy possible, the 100-”

“Commissioner,” she began

“-claiming my incompetence is to blame, and even the constables-”

“ _Commissioner'_ ” she interrupted, more forcefully

“What!”

She waited, keeping her countenance the picture of patient annoyance.

“I'm sorry, Miss Howard. Please continue”

“I can assure you that Dr. Kreizler is working on this case. He has reduced his private practice and most evenings are spent poring over any updates.” The tension appeared to leave Commissioner Roosevelt’s body, although his expression was no less aggravated. “Now that we have the final statements, I am sure we will come to a swift and certain conclusion.“

The Commissioner sagged back in his chair, eyes skyward.

“Just...just be certain. We have to be certain.”

Sara said nothing, returning to her own office to check and double check the final file. It would be enough. It would have to be.

*************************

As Sara handed her coat to Lazlo’s latest maid, she contemplated the girl’s blonde hair and pale skin. They tended to find placements in respectable houses after now standard half-year stints with Kreizler. And they never had dark hair. Not anymore. 

“They’re in the library. Want some coffee?” This one was only a month in, but the welcome was far better than the “Who are you?” she’d offered at their first meeting. 

“Thank you. It could be a long night for us all so coffee may be a good idea…” Sara found herself struggling to remember the new maid’s name.

“Sally, miss.”

“Sally.” She always regretted forgetting their names. With their current case at the forefront of her mind, the feeling was all the more acute. 

Sally sped off for the kitchen, leaving Sara to approach the salon, the crack in the doors letting out both the light of the fire and the raised voices contained therein.

“Lazlo, I will draw you back once again to the facts. This murder is clearly the work of a man!”

“Which man? The Isaacsons are clear that the cyanide...ah, good evening, Sara.”

John stood immediately and smiled her way. Always a smile for her, even in the depth of an argument with Lazlo. One day she might even let it work. 

“Sara, you look beautiful this evening, as always.”

“Thank you, John. And you look frustrated, as always.”

“Lazlo, while having great esteem in many of my skills, does not believe me to know anything of crime,” he said, glaring at Kreizler as he spoke. The fact that Lazlo showed no reaction to this amused Sara greatly.

“And on what particular aspect of crime are you demonstrating your great experience?” she said, maintaining her well-practiced poker-face.

John shot her a look. “That Diana Montrose is innocent of this crime. Women don’t kill this way. They do not take guns and shoot people.”

“And you gather this from your unrivaled contact with women? I’m impressed that you can gather so much about us one hour at a time.”

“Sara!” John exclaimed. She couldn’t see his face, but Sara was willing to wager Lazlo was smirking.

“Yes, John? A further insight, perhaps?” she teased.

“All that I am saying is that men confront their victims, whereas women do not.” 

“Are women so weak and feeble in your mind that a gun is quite beyond them?” Sara could feel her blood rising, John getting under her skin as only he could. ”Is a trigger too heavy a weight for them to pull?”

“John is right,” Lazlo said quietly. Sara shot him an aghast look, having expected his support in the face of John’s foolishness.

“Women tend to be poisoners and employers of assassins, not the shooters themselves.” 

“Thank you, Laz-”

Sara could hardly believe her ears. These two supposedly educated men had learned absolutely nothing in their time working alongside her. 

“And employees of the constabulary tend to be men,” she snapped “and yet here I stand before you.”

“Sara, I am not ruling Mrs. Montrose out." Kreizler responded "All I am saying is that at this point, none of the evidence makes sense. We have the maid, Joan, shot days before the others and left on the hallway floor. We have Mr. Montrose shot on Monday evening, and all the evidence pointing to Mrs Montrose killing herself soon after, with the murder weapon next to her. Do you have the witness statements from the neighbor?”

“Yes,” she handed them to him, feeling conflicted. “The neighbor heard Mr. Montrose call out ‘No’ to his wife before he was shot several times.”

“Did the “no” come before the first shot or afterwards?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.”

Sara skimmed the statement until she found the right line “Mr. Montrose shouted ‘Diana, no, God no!’ before there were several gunshots. And the scent of cyanide was still fresh on her lips when the Isaacsons arrived, suggesting it had been taken a short time before.“

Lazlo made an unconvinced noise.

“Oh, not the will _again_ , Lazlo.” John sounded exasperated, and on this, Sara was in agreement.

“The will on its own proves nothing, but the will with the letters is important. I am now more convinced than ever that Mrs. Montrose knew of her husband’s affair. In fact, I believe she condoned it.”

“On what grounds?” Sara asked. This was a great leap, and she was curious to hear if there was any evidence to support it. 

“I have been perusing the language used in the love letters along with a linguist colleague of mine.” He rolled down the blackboard, showing it to be covered in snippets of phrases from the letters recovered from beneath Joan Dunne’s bed. “It is a peculiarity of the English language that the Plural and Singular ‘You’ are the same word. If written carefully, a letter could be addressed to two or more people while appearing to be addressed to only one.”

“Do you have any way of demonstrating which was the case here?” Sara tried to recall the content of the letters, searching for any indication that two were referred to and not one.

“The third letter written by James Montrose, when he was in upstate New York. He writes ‘How I long to feel myself surrounded by you, the contrast of smoke and roses all around, with me at your command.’ I suggest that smoke referred to Joan's maintaining the hearth and fires, and the roses to Diana’s well recorded passion for her glasshouse roses.”

“I agree with John that this is unconvincing,” Sara stated, wondering what else Laszlo had to support his theory. 

“Then perhaps the two mistakes in the fourth and ninth letter. The same mistake twice. I almost missed it on the first reading. “And I am enslaved entirely to you, to my goddesses’ whim I am bound.’ I do not believe he even realized that he had written it incorrectly.”

Sara sat on the couch and considered what Kreizler was saying. The will clearly stated that Diana would only inherit on the condition that she retained Joan for the rest of Joan’s natural life. If James was indeed professing his love for both women, in a single letter, then she could see the only rational circumstance was that both women would be reading the letter together. So Diana knew about Joan. But was she accepting of it, or was the will a way to force her to look after Joan if James passed? Had she perhaps expressed displeasure with the arrangement leaving James with no other option to protect both of his loves?

“Lazlo, if your theory is correct, I believe that you have succeeded only in giving Diana an even stronger motive.”

“Jealousy,” John said, flatly. She could see from the corner of her eye that his blank expression masked his own reflected pain. Not for the first time, she considered reaching out to offer comfort, but John’s manner wouldn’t have allowed it. He was the strong man, the provider after all. Allowing himself weaknesses was beyond the pale, much less comfort.

“I believe that Diana became aware of Joan’s pregnancy. It could have been her breaking point,” Kreizler continued. 

“There were no children in the marriage.” John offered. “Seeing her husband’s child in the maid might have been too much. Joan was shot in the womb as well as the head”

“And this makes sense,” said Lazlo, beginning to pace the room. His words were positive but his tone distinctly frustrated. He swung around on them both. “But why kill Joan elsewhere and drag her body afterwards to the hall? Why not leave her wherever she lay? And if Diana was comfortable with a gun, why did she use cyanide to kill herself?”

Sara puzzled over these questions, before adding a final one. 

“And why did no-one hear the shots that killed Joan?”

Both men’s eyes bored into her. “The final witness statement confirmed that no-one in the neighbor’s home heard any shots before the Monday.”

“There are too many questions and not nearly enough answers.” Lazlo said. “Tomorrow we will return to Rosewood House. Perhaps a tour of the murder scenes will provide us with what we need."


	2. Whatever remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was hoping that you might lie on the bed and see if there are any hidden alcoves or other hiding places. I am sure that there is more to be found both in this room and the next.”
> 
> “And you’re asking me, because I am a woman, Dr Kreizler?”
> 
> “No,” said Kreizler, impatiently, “I am asking you as you are keen-eyed and have often spotted that which John and I have missed.”

Rosewood House was an unremarkable residence for the affluent area in which it stood. Two floors plus attic rooms for the servants. A reasonable garden with glasshouse, a small stable block, even an ice-house in the cellar. All that an up-and-coming couple could need, but none of the grandeur and space that might come with later wealth. 

Now there would be no later wealth and the shell of the house stood eerily quiet. 

“It is a pity John could not join us.” Sara said, feigning disappointment. She knew full well that John would seek out any excuse to be occupied rather than at Kreizler’s beck and call.

Kreizler glanced toward her, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. “Indeed, but the horticultural society’s garden exhibit will not illustrate itself.”

Sara smiled briefly, before her eyes fell upon the bloodstained floor, not two yards from the doorway in which they stood. The final resting place of Joan Dunne. Not, however, where she was killed. All but the most simple constable could see that she had bled profusely when shot, and yet two small patches were all that remained on the surface. The house had been scoured for the site where she died, but nowhere else bore any suspicious stains. Except, she corrected herself, for entry to the drawing room, where a large pool had collected as James bled out, all but dead before he fell. 

“This concerned me before,” Sara looked up to find Kreizler pointing to a small scuff on the hearth. 

“Concerned you, how? It could easily have been caused by the maid cleaning out the embers, or being clumsy with the poker.”

“Do you see any evidence of scratches around the poker stand? Any marks elsewhere? If it were an errant maid, I believe you would see more than a single mark, particularly in a hearth that is otherwise immaculate.. We should look-”

Three sharp raps at the front door startled them both. Sara looked to Kreizler, curious to see who it was, yet uncertain whether they were supposed to be there. Could this be family; possibly someone who would be angry at them for intruding?

Kreizler nodded to her, beckoning her to answer the door. ‘Coward’, she thought inwardly, steeling herself for a barrage of grief and abuse. 

On opening, she saw a smartly dressed, serious man of about 40 with an abundant set of grey whiskers.

“May I help you?”

“Dr. Mayweather,” said the man, pushing past her into the shelter of the hallway. “Take me to the lady of the house.”

Stunned by the unexpected intrusion, Sara could only answer “I'm sorry, that won't be possi-” before being interrupted.

“Nonsense, I have an appointment, have done for a month now and I have traveled a great distance in this awful snow at your mistress’ request to-” 

Sara's eyes flared at the assumption ”Mistress? I am not the maid, sir!”

The arrogant expression was tinted with uncertainty “No? Then who the devil are you?”

At this, Kreizler finally stepped forward. “Dr. Mayweather, I fear I have some bad news for you. Please allow me to introduce myself and my associate.”

  


********************************

  


“Good lord. Dead, eh?”

“Indeed. Can I ask for what reason you were asked to attend Mrs. Montrose?”

“Well, she _said_ that her visiting sister from New Haven believed she was pregnant and asked me to confirm it. She was clear that I was to provide both the utmost care and confidentiality. I got the feeling that this might not be an entirely _normal_ set of circumstances.” The Doctor gave Kreizler a disapproving look.

“And what do you mean by that,” Sara pressed. Seemingly just now remembering her presence, the doctor became flustered, whiskers bouncing as he sought the right words.

“Well I, I have no specific _proof_ , and I wouldn't like to impugn the lady's reputation. I mean, it could be perfectly innocent. But she was quite clear that if asked, I was to say that it was Mrs. Montrose that was pregnant. In fact, she didn't seem to want anyone to know her sister was even here. Said she’d be returning to the family home in Fairfield County soon enough and wanted all her care to be undertaken there. ‘S the only reason I’d make the journey in this ice and muck. Well, that and a very handsome consulting fee.” Mayweather smiled conspiratorially at Kreizler, and Sara was satisfied to see it was not returned. 

Mayweather’s face fell slightly at that, but carried on regardless. “D’you know what happened to Miss Dorner? I’d hate to think she was going without my help” From the little Sara knew of Joan Dunne, she would have quite enjoyed seeing her encounter with Dr. Mayweather. She felt her face fall a little as she remembered the stains out in the hallway.

“Yes, she has returned to her family and is receiving care there.” Kreizler answered quickly, before Sara could so much as open her mouth “I suspect they would appreciate your discretion in this matter.”

“Ha, thought as much.” Mayweather chuckled slyly “Well she paid my retainer for six months so I've not lost out on-”

Sara rose from her chair and strode towards the drawing room doorway.

“Well thank you Dr. Mayweather, if you could leave us your card we'll contact you if we need anything further.” she said abruptly, wanting the man out of her sight as soon as possible.

He stood up abruptly, bristling at the interruption and looking poised to reprimand her when Kreizler placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Dr. Mayweather, your help has been invaluable.” Kreizler smoothly stroked the man’s ego with his response and a smile “You may well have helped us bring to justice those involved in this senseless crime. May I have your card? In case I need to consult with you further?” Out of sight of the pompous fool, Sara glared at the two. 

“Of course.” said Mayweather, reaching for his card box, seemingly soothed by Kreizler’s flattery “Always happy to help a fellow acolyte of Galen.”

“Much appreciated. I would hate to take up more of your time, particularly if you wish to return to your family.”

“Yes yes, of course. Well do get in touch if you're in need of expertise. No need to be flailing around when I can help.” Sara had never before witnessed a patronizing handshake. It had all the hallmarks of a friendly goodbye, except for respect and sincerity.

Kreizler smiled. Sara had begun to distinguish the different forms that these took. This one was brilliant and appeared cheerful unless you saw the flash of irritation beforehand. She decided it was his Goodbye Useful Fool smile. 

As Mayweather left, her mind pondered when she had begun paying so much attention to Lazlo's smiles. It was a concerning thought, and one thankfully disturbed by Kreizler announcing that they should next review the Montroses' bedroom. 

Ascending the stairs, Sara began to feel a creep of unease. She had visited a great number of crime scenes in her work with Lazlo and the Commissioner, yet the thought of visiting this bedroom was more disconcerting than most. It felt...close. Like a life not lived, but that could have been. As always, she tried not to let this emotion overwhelm her, and particularly kept it from Kreizler’s notice. She was jolted from her thoughts when a hand appeared in front of her, Lazlo’s hand. His expression was compassionate, but there was something else there. She shook her head and took the last step to the landing unaided. Her thoughts would not rule her, now or ever. 

‘We’re at the head of the stairs, so the first left door is the main entrance to the Montrose’s bedroom.” she said, having made an effort to memorize the plans as drawn up by the police on their first visit. 

“That is correct, but we will be taking the second left door,” said Kreizler, a slight glint in his eye as though he’d hoped to spring this on her. She stared hard at him, attempting to elicit an explanation. She doubted he had misunderstood her meaning, but he was silent all the same. 

She rolled her eyes and went as directed through the other door. It lead to a large dressing room, with a door, most likely to a bathroom off to the side. To her surprise, there was a small bed at the end of the room. “Joan slept in this room?” she surmised. Kreizler nodded, “Officially she was a lady’s maid and by all accounts, Diana demanded she be nearby for any needs.”

Sara couldn’t help but smile at Lazlo’s wordplay. The cot looked superficially used, with the sort of creases one might find in a bed that had been slept in and remade. Joan was a clever one, but not so clever as to remember to do the same to the sheets below the blanket. 

“I was hoping that you might lie on the bed and see if there are any hidden alcoves or other hiding places. I am sure that there is more to be found both in this room and the next.”

“And you’re asking me, because I am a woman, Dr Kreizler?”

“No,” said Kreizler, impatiently, “I am asking you as you are keen-eyed and have often spotted that which John and I have missed.”

Sara sat, mollified by the compliment, however it was delivered. There was little enough opportunity for hiding places. The windowsill was stone, as were the walls. No wood cladding, no furniture other than a single, simple table. She reached beneath it all the same. Nothing. 

“You and John have already searched the bed, correct?”

“Yes, which is where the letters from James were found.”

Sara contemplated. It was possible that Joan would have hidden things in the closets and chests of drawers that lined the walls, but that would have held its own risks. A nosy laundry maid hanging clothes could have come across them. No, Sara thought, Joan had kept this secret far too long for foolish mistakes like that. 

“There won’t be anything in here. It’s too accessible, too open to the house staff.”

“Then through to the bedroom.” Kreizler directed. 

To Sara’s surprise, the bed seemed of a normal size. She had assumed it would be larger, but chided herself for this. That would be too obvious, of course. And with the three being on such intimate terms, perhaps they appreciated the closeness. 

Sara felt uncomfortable in this room, although not through any prudishness. It was her ignorance of such things that caused her to be so rigid, and to flinch when Lazlo touched her arm. 

Lazlo looked surprised by her reaction. “My apologies, Sara, you did not seem to hear me talking. Are you alright?”

Sara attempted to recover her composure. “Quite alright, just considering the room. What is it that you were saying?”

Lazlo hesitated. “I was going to impose on you, but-”

“Dr Kreizler, in my time working with you, you have imposed on me almost daily.” Sara raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly “I don’t see why you should stop now.”

Kreizler looked amused, but with something else there. Perhaps relief? Before Sara could become concerned with what that would mean, he clarified the imposition.

“Would you please join me in lying on the bed.”

“What purpose would that possibly serve?”

“I laid on this bed previously, but could not gather any insight into the minds of the victims. I would like to try this with company in the hopes that it will trigger some realization.”

It was a thin excuse. There must be some ulterior motive and Sara was almost annoyed at herself for the curiosity that made her lie on the opposite side of the bed, careful to be as far away from Kreizler as possible. There was no-one else in the house, but even so there was propriety to think of. 

She stared up at the canopy of the bed. When she had imagined sharing space with a man, it had been a husband, not a colleague ( _friend_ , her thoughts whispered to her) at a crime scene. She looked to see if Lazlo would reveal his true reasons for this rigmarole. 

He was also looking up at the canopy, but grinning. As though some amusing thought had struck him. 

“You find this entertaining.” she stated, embers of anger flaring within her. If this was some form of mockery then Kreizler would continue this visit alone. 

“Not the situation, but your acquiescence.” he continued to stare up at the ceiling, not meeting her eye. “I wonder if you would have agreed had John been the one to ask.“

“You are not John Moore.” 

“No,” he conceded, smile subsiding, to be replaced by the same enigmatic expression she had seen when they had entered the room. “No I am not. I am my own man, but still a man with whom you are willing to lay in bed.“

That last comment was the limit. Sara sat up abruptly, only to be startled for the second time that day by Kreizler gripping her arm.

“No, please. It was not my intention to shame you.” 

“Intention aside, you were successful.“

“I apologize, please lie back down? I only commented, as I find the situation to be a strange one."

Sara sat back against the headboard, refusing to go so far as to lie back down again.

“I would be equally reticent to lay in bed with John, again.” said Lazlo, calmly, but with an edge to his voice. 

“I have never once-” she spat at him, cursing his ability to so easily rile her. 

“I have,” he replied and Sara realized this was his second admission of it.

“During an investigation?” she asked carefully.

“No.” 

Lazlo lay silently after that last word. Sara let the revelation wash over her. It was clear that this was no normal friendly sharing of space. The weight of Lazlo’s reply was heavy, regretful, no not regretful. Wistful, perhaps. There was nothing she could say to that. A small part of her wondered if the Commissioner was aware, or if he’d care. 

“I hope you won’t begin to regard me as any form of rival for John’s affections,” said Lazlo, quietly. “I can assure you that his attentions are entirely yours. As yours are his.” he added.

Sara shifted, uncomfortable at this aspect of the conversation, even more than the revelation of Lazlo and John’s...former closeness. As she moved, she felt something strange in the mattress. She listened carefully as she moved again. Yes, she was sure now. 

“Lazlo. Get off the bed. “

She stood up quickly and began to move the pillows. Lazlo looked shocked.

“Miss Howard, please do not-”

Sara shook her head, silencing him. “There’s something in the mattress.” She stripped back the sheets as Lazlo left the bed. “When I was younger, I would hide things from my parents in this way. It was the only place that the maids wouldn’t find things.” Feeling around the edge of the mattress, her fingers slipped across a slit in the fabric cover, carefully concealed around one of the seams. “Here!”

Both worked to pull the heavy mattress further away from the frame of the bed so that Sara could fit her hand through the small gap. Feeling through the insides, she curled her hand around small book and a letter, both bound with a scented ribbon. It was clearly a love token, but why was it separate from the others?

Quickly untying the ribbon, Sara passed the letter to Lazlo and kept the book for herself. It was a notebook of some kind, the pages covered in poetry. She scanned the pages quickly, and despite her own experiences, found the contents shockingly vivid. Even the first few poems spoke openly of sexual intercourse, of the love between the three of them, and Sara struggled to match up this book with the letters written by James. But then she read more carefully. This book spoke of James and Joan. But not of Diana. 

Because Diana was the author. 

She looked to Lazlo, observing his wide-eyed expression which must surely match her own. Whatever the letter contained, it was as enlightening as this book of Diana’s poetry. 

“Well done, Sara.” Lazlo said, a look of wonder on his face “You may have uncovered the key to this case.”


	3. However improbable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara shook her head. “John, perhaps if you could leave the thinking to your higher brain you could see the similarities in the dynamics. I am Diana, the newest addition, Lazlo is James-”
> 
> “And I am a maid, am I? Some, servant to you both, no better than the boot boy!” John grabbed his notebook from the table and stormed towards the door. 

“The master and Mr. Moore are in the drawing room again, Miss. I’ve just made coffee, but I’ll fetch you another cup.”

Sara smiled briefly at Sally, happy to see her progress. She may not even need six months. Sara had a brief flash of the Joan’s body lying in the hallway of Rosewood House. “Thank you, Sally. That would be welcome."

With a brilliant smile returned from the maid, Sara walked to the doors, left cracked but not open fully. Either Sally still needed some training, or she’d already learned that knowledge is power. Secretly Sara hoped it was the latter. 

“I find myself struggling to keep one woman happy, I can’t fathom why he would make it so much more complicated with a second.”

Sara’s hand stopped on the handle.

“John, if you read the letters, truly read them, it was not a choice. He loved them both, dearly, equally even”

“Oh come now, Lazlo.”

“ ‘My beloved’ ” Lazlo quoted, sounding every bit the absent lover, “ ‘how I long to be with you, how I miss your sounds and scents. How I long for our discourse on every subject, our wild arguments even-’ ”

There was shuffling, and were she a betting woman Sara would wager that John had stood to pace, as he so often did when frustrated, or uncomfortable. Given Lazlo’s admission of yesterday, it struck her that he might be both. 

“I remain unconvinced that these letters are to both women-yes, yes I don’t doubt your analysis, nor your colleague’s opinion on the language, but what maid do you know that can hold a conversation with her master?”

That was enough for Sara. The swept the door open to confront John once again. 

“One that was loved by him,” she argued, “one that was treated by him as his equal and given a chance to learn and voice her opinions. Do you think maids and servants so incapable of intelligence? Are you learned men so biologically different that none but yourselves can hope to debate with you? What say you about Joanna, Cyrus’ niece?”

John looked taken aback “And so James taught Joan these things, for what purpose?”

Sara hadn’t thought beyond that point, but Lazlo intervened. 

“I believe that James and Joan had a relationship far longer than James and Diana, likely beginning when she worked in James’ childhood home. It would not surprise me to learn that James and Diana were wed dependent on Diana accepting Joan.”

“And this now is pure conjecture!” John exploded, “based on nothing whatsoever.”

This Sara could argue “The letters bear it out. The will bears it out. The question was what Diana felt about the relationship. And now we know that, as well.” 

“No,” John insisted, “we know that the day before the servants were sent away, Diana wrote a letter to Joan talking of how excited she was to grow their family, to be together in Connecticut until the child was born. She speaks of sadness that their family must be partially hidden. We know nothing of what happened between then and the murders. Perhaps she decided she could not go on with this deceit and wanted to back out. Perhaps Joan panicked and threatened to expose her. These things are just as likely as what you are suggesting.”

Lazlo looked aggravated at John’s refusal. Sara was now convinced that this entire conversation had more subtext than John realized. Unfortunately, John had apparently noticed Lazlo’s expression and misinterpreted it.

“Lazlo, I know you do not want to believe-”

“I am objective!” Lazlo yelled. Sara held her breath, uncertain whether she should even be in the room at this moment. John’s expression seemed to be a combination of both sarcastic and smug, as if to say “Of course you are.” 

Lazlo visibly composed himself and continued “If Diana killed her lovers then-”

“Do NOT call them that”

Sara quickly glanced to the door, and considered removing herself. She wondered if they would even notice. 

“It could be argued that living in such a way is more natural than our current fashion for monogamy.” Lazlo sounded like a lecturer in some anthropology class, something she was sure he knew John despised.

“If you cite yet another study of barbarian tribes-”

“There are a great many such studies, but think more simply. Our base urges are for food, shelter and sex. Gourmands enjoy a variety of dishes, the wealthy often own several houses. Why would we not wish to have as many options as possible in all of them?” 

John looked stricken at Lazlo’s frankness, staring at Sara as if expecting support. He was looking in the wrong place.

“Is their situation so different to our own?” he continued “You and I were well known to each other before you introduced Sara to our friendship. We...adapted ourselves and now work together well. It is not so hard to understand their positions when you can relate them to our own.”

“Lazlo,” John said, with the frustrated patience of one attempting to explain table manners to an unruly child ”the intimacy of the victims is entirely different from that of our friendship.”

Lazlo said nothing in response, just stared for a moment before walking back to his desk.

“I must say I'd rather you’d waited for Sara's absence to announce such preposterous theories.”

Sara halted her slow progress towards the exit. She could see where this was going and would not be so cowardly as to leave Lazlo alone in it. 

“I'm sure you do. Although perhaps not for the reasons you currently believe.” 

“What do you mean by that.” John snapped. 

Sara cleared her throat “He means that we have discussed this previously and I was in agreement.“

John was rendered speechless, mouth gaping like a fresh catch as he glanced between she and Lazlo.

Sara shook her head. “John, perhaps if you could leave the thinking to your higher brain you could see the similarities in the dynamics. I am Diana, the newest addition, Lazlo is James-”

“And I am a maid, am I? Some, servant to you both, no better than the boot boy!” John grabbed his notebook from the table and stormed towards the door. 

Sara tried to catch him as he passed “John, social standing is irrelev-”

The doors slammed closed, followed closely by the front door, rattling with such force that the knocker fell against the outside.

Sara was conflicted. She felt that she should follow him, explain that this was no insult, but that he and Lazlo could only be Joan and James because they had known each other longer. That theirs was the first relationship, the one to which she had been added. That perhaps they were wrong, that he was James as he was the glue that bound she and Lazlo together. For all that it pleased her to tease John, seeing him in such a fury drove her to soothe him, despite her resistance to such a feminine stereotype. 

Finally she looked to Lazlo for advice. “Let him cool his temper a little before you talk to him.” he commanded. At this, Sally arrived with the coffee, her presence somehow dispersing some of the tension in the atmosphere. 

“So, “ Lazlo said breezily, “what new edicts have been sent down from Commissioner Roosevelt?”

*********************************

Hours later they were both standing at the blackboard, considering the newest developments in the investigation. 

“What concerns me is why was this letter sent at all?” 

Sara nodded in agreement. If they shared a house, why not tell her in person, and why speak of missing her? Joan was clearly elsewhere when this was sent.

“If we at least had the envelope, we might have an address. Why was the letter kept, but not the envelope? It’s not common to keep one and not the other.”

“True, Sara, but we mustn’t bemoan that which we do not have. Let us focus instead on where else she might have gone.”

“Her family,” came a familiar voice from behind them. 

Both turned sharply. Sara had not heard John return, and was cautious to say anything that might disturb him again. 

“John-” she said, unable to hide the relief in her voice as he approached them. 

Moore breezed past her and to the blackboard. “If she was intending to leave for a long time, she would have gone to her family for a last visit. Particularly as she was bearing her first child. Perhaps she hoped to get advice from the women in the family on motherhood?”

“Yes! That would explain the letter.” Lazlo’s face dropped. “And it may open up a new list of suspects.”

All three stared at the board, the same thought likely in all their minds. Could the Dunnes be responsible for this?

“Dunne is an Irish name, is it not?” 

Sara nodded. There were a great many Dunnes, Murphys and O’Connors in the police department, and she knew where this line of inquiry was taking Lazlo. “Likely a Catholic family that would look poorly on an unwed mother.”

“But to kill three people for this?” John didn’t sound angry or argumentative this time. Just sad. 

“People have been killed for pennies, John.” Sara explained, kindly “For perceived slights. You may be shocked by how little it takes to drive someone to murder.”

“Then tomorrow you will both go to the family. Talk to them, see if there is something hidden.“ Sara rolled her eyes at John. Neither were happy when ordered like soldiers by the mighty Major Kreizler.

“L-” Sara stopped herself “Dr. Kreizler, I am not an investigator.” 

Lazlo smiled, this one genuine and verging on happy “On the contrary, Sara, you have been the most accomplished investigator in this entire venture. I believe that you, above all of us, will be able to help us understand the family’s place in all this.” Something clicked in Sara’s mind, and she realized that her purpose was to talk to the women, as a woman, and see what they would reveal. 

“And shall I take the notes?“ asked John sarcastically, his annoyance from earlier still clearly bubbling away. 

“No John,” said Lazlo, ignoring John’s petulance “you will be a cuckoo in the nest. I want you to mention the rumors around the family. See if condemnation of the Montrose household might stir up some fellow feeling.” 

John shook his head with a wry smile, and Sara knew that one, too. Lazlo was perfectly comfortable manipulating those around him, and expected them both to be the same. Either way, just this once it would be worth it. At the very least, she suspected the family might guide them forward in some way. 

“Finally.” Kreizler smacked the table, “finally I feel things are becoming clear.”  
  


*******************************

“That sinful bastard is no kin to me!”

The door slammed after John while Sara was finishing up with Mrs. Dunne in the yard outside. He rearranged his clothes in the typical way of his when he tried to retain his composure. Mrs. Dunne rolled her eyes. 

“He’d have better luck in the evening, once Calum has a few softeners in him.”

Sara nodded along. “Some men won’t be told.”

Mrs. Dunne snorted, “Don’t I know that. Not just men, neither. Our Joan, she was a willful one. Wouldn’t do a thing ‘less it was her idea. Even when it was common sense. Sometimes, she just didn’t know when to listen.”

“My father would say the same of me sometimes.”

Mrs. Dunne looked her up and down. “Well, you’ll excuse me for saying, but it’s alright for the likes of you. You don’t have masters to keep happy. I used to think it a blessing that Mr. Montrose was so fond of our Joan. I’m sure she’d have been long gone many a time before.”

“She was lucky.”

“No, she was his whore, and look where it got her. If she’d just listened to her father after she’d shamed herself.” Mrs. Dunne appeared to be talking less to Sara and more to herself as she finished unpinning the washing. “After all, she had to think of her own future, and the child. For them, it wouldn’t have been anything, they have so much, but-. She turned white, catching herself. “But she had to go back to them. Shun us and take up with their wickedness. And now she’s dead. And that’s the end of all of it.” 

Sara felt the weight of Mrs Dunne’s words. _Stop prying_ , she was saying. _Let it be_. 

“She is. I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dunne. If there’s anything that you can add to the investigation, then please contact me here.” Sara attempted to hand a card to the grieving mother, but Mrs. Dunne waved her off. 

“There’s nothing more to be said, and that’s just kindling to me. Never need to read and write. Calum does all that for the family, when he’s sober enough. And Michael does it when he’s not.”

“Michael?” Sara asked, curiosity piqued. They hadn’t come across a Michael in the file. 

“Calum’s brother. And don’t you be dragging him into this mess!” Sara was taken aback by the sudden violence in Mrs Dunne’s voice, as though she’d touched a nerve. She looked as though she regretted even mentioning the name. “He’s a good man to this family is Michael,” she hissed. “We’d be on the streets by now if Michael didn’t hold Calum’s temper for him. And his drinking. Now you should be going. Your man there is finished and so are you.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dunne” Sara barely finished before the door slammed, again.

John stood to the side of the street, clearly listening in but pretending to write in his notebook. Sara was sure Mrs. Dunne was of no further use, her mistake with Michael likely to make her much more cautious. 

“Anything new from her?” John asked as they walked back to the main drag. 

“A little, before you were ejected. I see your silver tongue is as effective as ever. Or is it only the women in your life that fall for it?”

“Are you suggesting that you have fallen for it?” John smiled and Sara tried hard to conceal her own. John’s broadening grin suggested that she had not been entirely successful. 

“Did you get anything useful from Mr. Dunne before you parted ways?” she asked, quickly changing the subject. 

“He knew Joan was pregnant and he knew James was the father. He disowned her and threw her out.”

Sara nodded sagely “Just as we suspected. Mrs. Dunne, and she said I had no need of her first name-”

“Your own gentle persuasions failing you?” John teased. Sara ignored him.

“-she mentioned that a letter had arrived for Joan, but Mr. Dunne intercepted it. There was a furious row, then Mr. Dunne went out drinking, and when he came back there was another argument, after which Joan was thrown out. I presume you were listening outside?”

“I heard that Mrs. Dunne was adamant that Michael wasn’t involved. Which means he almost certainly was.”

“Earlier than that. She was talking about Joan being able to provide for herself and the baby, and about the Montroses having so much that they wouldn’t miss something. I think they wanted Joan to steal from the house-”

It was far from the first time that John had interrupted her as she spoke. It was the first time, however, that he had done so by kissing her on the lips. It was...forceful, passionate, as though he wished to join them into a single being. She was so busy feeling it, she entirely forgot herself and their location until a catcall from nearby shocked her. She pulled away, feeling angry, and embarrassed and reluctant all at once. 

“What are you doing!” she screamed at him.

“Sara, I’m so sorry.” he looked distraught, abortively reaching for her before reconsidering. “Please forgive me, I, you just-”

“I just what, exactly? What did I do to beg you to embarrass me like this?” She could feel the heat rising within her, blush fiery on her cheeks.

“You’ve done it. You’ve solved it. I know why they were all killed, and I think I know who did it. At least I know that Calum Dunne and probably Michael Dunne were involved.”

It was likely the only thing that could have stopped Sara from running for the nearest cab. She was still considering it while John continued. 

“Calum Dunne, he said Joan had the chance to set herself up for life, to turn her shame into something good, but she wouldn’t do as she was told. It’s blackmail, Sara. What Mrs Dunne said. They wanted her to blackmail the Montroses.”

Sara thought back over her conversation with Mrs. Dunne. _They had so much. She just didn’t know when to listen._

“Mr. Dunne saw the letter. That’s why there was no envelope - he opened it, not Joan. If he thought they loved her, and had the proof of their relationship, he could have asked for anything, and James Montrose would have paid it. His reputation in the city would be destroyed if people learned about the affair.”

“Whatever happened, Mr. Dunne is involved, I’m sure of it. And you gave me everything to put it back together. And I was just so happy that...” John faltered.

Sara didn’t say anything, and found herself adjusting her own clothing this time. 

“I’m so sorry, Sara. I truly am. I was inappropriate.”

“Yes,” she said flatly “you were. And I think you should probably go and find out more about Michael Dunne.”

John looked forlorn. “I...I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Start at Mr Dunne’s workplace. I wouldn’t be surprised if they work together, especially as it sounds like Michael might cover for Calum. Did you at least learn that?”

John pulled himself up haughtily. “Of course. They work in the meat market, unloading the carcasses into the cold stores.”

“Then you shall go there and I shall go to Lazlo and update him on your revelation. Now go.”

Thoroughly dismissed, John stalked off and Sara continued towards the main street. She would need some time to compose herself before facing Lazlo. The man had an uncanny ability to sense her moods, and she needed him to focus entirely on the case. 

************************************

  
  


“I’m happy for you, you know.” said Lazlo.

“Happy for me?” Sara couldn’t help but be confused. They’d barely finished discussing the results of talking with the family, and John’s subsequent deduction. What could she have to be happy about?

“You blushed whenever John’s name was mentioned. I assume that your relationship has progressed in a more romantic direction.”

Sara could say nothing. Lazlo was refusing to meet her eye, but she could see from his dejected countenance that this was causing him as much sadness as she’d suspected. 

It hadn’t been this way when he still had Mary. When they both had someone, perhaps it was not a consideration. She gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder,

Lazlo finally turned to meet her eye. There were no tears but there was a bereft look in his eyes. Sara couldn’t help but feel responsible, but also something else. As though there was nothing more important in that moment that showing him that he was loved. That no matter what happened, he would remain part of their trio. As though. 

_Oh God._

She leaned forward to kiss him gently. Her lips pressed against his as she tried to convey that which she could barely conceive of. That she wanted him to be with John, and with her. That if the Montroses could have it, why couldn’t they? That he needn’t give up more in his life. That she wanted this, too. 

She could feel his hand come to gently cradle her face as his lips moved beneath hers. He began to suck gently at her lower lip and she was reaching for his neck as the door to the drawing room slammed open. 

They sprang apart, both turning immediately to see John. Of all the people, _John_ , looking as furious as she had ever seen him. Before a word was said, John turned and left. 

****************************

Sara was beginning to regret her decision to return home and sleep before chasing after John. She’d called at his home the next morning and left a message with John’s grandmother. She, too, was concerned that John had apparently not returned. If he was not at home, Sara knew he’d be in a whorehouse somewhere.

She’d hailed a cab to go to the most likely one, and hesitated. She didn’t want to see him coming out of there. Not again, and not now. “Police department” she ordered, hoping that on the journey she might decide what to do once she got there.

She loved John, and while she had never acknowledged it to him, he surely knew it. There was an inevitability to their connection, and while she would tease him with her independence, she expected that they would be wed sooner rather than later. So his witnessing her kiss with Lazlo would be far too close to his experience with Julia.

She winced as she realized how much more harm her actions had caused. She would not regret the kiss. She knew herself well enough for that. But she would apologize for his finding out in this way. And perhaps, in time, he would forgive her for it. 

The cab jolted to a stop, tearing her from her thoughts. The quarter-hour journey had passed in an instant. The driver helped her down and she paid him the fare before joining the hustle and bustle at the entrance. Sometimes the crowd helped her to think, but John was an unsolvable puzzle right now. 

Someone pushed past her, spinning her almost off her feet, and as she turned to chide them, she came face to face with Marcus Isaacson. 

“Miss Howard, you gotta come with us!”

“Us?” Sara asked, looking around for Julius and catching sight of him...with John. John who wouldn’t look at her. John who looked disheveled but sober. John, who absolutely wasn’t in a brothel. 

“C’mon!” Marcus ordered as he all but ran out of the atrium. Julius shrugged and followed his brother. Leaving just she and John alone. 

“John-”

“I came to talk to them about what I’d learned from the cold store about Dunne.” John interrupted “Apparently I struck a chord with them as they’ve been poring over Diana Montrose’s body all night, not including the time it took them to warm up some rat or other.”

“We need-”

“I hope you’re not referring to you and I, Miss Howard.” The formality stung. 

“Yes I am!” she cried out, far louder than she had intended. Loud enough indeed for the susurrus of conversation in the hall to stop entirely. 

“Well do carry on, Miss Howard,” he said, acerbically, “what is it we need to do?”

She could feel the eyes of those around her staring, turned on her heel and strode out of the building her head held high. No-one would see her flinch, not there. She refused.

The Isaacsons were talking animatedly as another cab pulled up beside them. They took one bench, leaving the other for Sara and John. If they noticed any frostiness between the two, they didn’t say. Contrary to the previous journey, this one took an age. 

Sally welcomed them all, taking coats and directing the Isaacsons to the salon. Sara went to follow, when Sally stopped both her and John. 

“Begging your pardon, Miss Howard, Mr. Moore, but Dr. Kreizler would like you meet with him in the dining room first.”

“Well Mr. Moore would prefer to deal with the murder case, and will choose for himself when he wishes to meet with Dr. Kreizler.” John snapped, and Sally turned bright red. Some of the anger seemed to leave John on seeing the result of his abrupt reply. “It’s alright, Sally. Let’s get it over with.”

He didn’t wait to see if Sara would follow, or even bother to acknowledge her existence. Sara did follow, uncertain and uncomfortable. It was a strange turn of events when she would rather discuss a triple homicide than whatever awaited her through the door. 

Lazlo stood in front of his table, face schooled into some semblance of determination. A pity, then, that his body betrayed his uncertainty.

“John, Sara, thank you for indulging me. I shall be brief.” John snorted and beckoned him to continue. 

“John, I have no designs on Sara. I was feeling...unbalanced. Your recent progression towards marriage stirred up memories of my own and I’m afraid I lost myself and took advantage of a good woman offering friendship. Sara, I hope you will forgive me.”

 _Oh, very clever,_ Sara thought. _Well done. Now John thinks you were upset about Mary, and that you kissed me as a surrogate_. Lazlo had likely thought long and hard about what to do to repair what he saw as a problem he’d caused. 

“No, Lazlo.” Sara said, calmly. John’s head snapped back to look at her so fast, she wondered how it had remained on his shoulders. 

“Sara, this is not your doing. And John should not blame you for this.”

“He should, and I’ll not have you play the sacrificial lamb at the altar of John Moore’s emotional nature.”

“Enough!” John roared. “How dare you both speak of me as if I’m some tantruming child? As if I’ve not been betrayed by two people closest to me. If I am emotional then it is because I have every right to be!”

Sara stood, stubborn as a rock in a maelstrom. “And I have a right to claim my own crimes. I kissed him, John. Just as I wish I’d kissed you outside the Dunne’s rooms.” 

“Oh yes? Then why did you pull back as though I’d scalded you, as though I was repugnant to you?”

“Because we were in the street! Because people were watching us, John! Because when I’d envisioned our first kiss, it wasn’t surrounded by catcallers and washerwomen tutting!”

John stopped in his rage, whether in shock at Sara’s anger or her admission, she couldn’t tell. 

“And I have thought about it, John. As I’ve thought about the day I’ll accept your proposal. The day I’ll take thee, John Moore, to be my wedded husband for better for worse, for richer for poorer. And to give you lots of little children who will be as stubborn as me and just as kind as yourself." She hated herself for choking on that last word, but for all her efforts she was still a woman. One who felt as deeply and honestly as the man before her.

John breathed heavily, his eyes bright as though tears were not far away. “You love me.”

“Yes John. I love you. And no matter how pig-headed, and bullish, and demanding you may be, I will continue to do so.” Sara tried to stoke her fury, as she was convinced that when it abated there would be nothing left to hold back her own tears. 

Only then did she realize that Lazlo was gone, slipped out at some point in their argument. They were alone.

“I thought I’d lost you” John’s voice was so faint that if she hadn’t been watching his lips move, she’d have doubted hearing it. 

Sara risked a step towards him, and when he didn’t retreat, she continued until she could embrace him, laying her head upon his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. He clutched her tightly.

“No,” she whispered. “Not this time. Hopefully not ever.”

She felt John kiss her hair as she squeezed him, hoping the few stray tears that fell wouldn’t stain his suit. 

She sighed and raised her head to look at him. “We should join the others.”

John nodded, dejectedly. “Don’t make me wait so long next time,” he mumbled as he let her go.

There was more to discuss, so much more, but for now they were needed in the salon. 

Marcus barely lifted his head from laying out what appeared to be a dead rat, spread open with its organs exposed. Sara wrinkled her nose at the stench. 

“The rat, it was the rat in the street.” Julius said, as though this explained everything. She looked to Lazlo for further explanation and he shook his head, as confused as she was. 

“The strange damage to the wife, building such a huge fire despite planning to suicide. She was killed first, Dr. Kreizler.”

Lazlo’s eyes widened. “Can you prove this, Mr Isaacson? We must be certain.” 

Marcus took over as his brother faltered. “I worked it out when Mr. Moore mentioned the cold store where the father worked. Mrs. Montrose’s body had all manner of strange damage to her lungs and brain, and I couldn’t work out why when the cyanide woulda killed her almost instantly. Then, while Mr. Moore was talking to us, we were walking to the police department, and I saw this rat. It was in the slush, looked like it had frozen to death and it was beginning to melt.” He gulped down a breath, looking expectantly at them all. 

“They waited for the staff to leave, probably as soon as she and the maid were alone and, and they forced the cyanide into her.”

“Which would explain that damage you saw on the hearth, Dr. Kreizler.” Julius pointed out. “Then left her in the ice house downstairs, thinking if they kept her cool, no-one would realize how long she’d been dead. But whoever it was, they’re not doctors. They don’t know rigor mortis, or body temperatures. But they know enough to make a body look fresh when it isn’t while they waited on the husband. Like a carcass that’s kept cold to make it still look fresh when the butcher comes for it."

Marcus picked up the thread “And the one place in the house that you’d never hear a shot from outdoors is the ice house. They coulda waited and scraped the blood out after killing the maid. Even if it wasn’t perfect, there was plenty of other blood from meat and stuff in that room that you’d never even know.”

“Oh God” Sara whispered to herself, as all the pieces began to fall into place.

“And I said right from the beginning that the marks on the wife’s legs were wrong.” Julius directed the comment at his brother, their traditional sibling rivalry rearing its head. 

He caught Sara’s confused expression “The lividity, you know, when the blood pools after you die? It was all along her thighs and calves. But if she’d died in that chair, it wouldn’t be like that. It would be like that, though, if she was killed and was left sitting on a floor somewhere. But they couldn’t let her be frozen solid when the police came, so they built the fire to warm her up.”

Laszlo could barely contain his excitement.

“I need to tell the Commissioner. Marcus, Julius, come with me. Bring the rat.” 

He rushed out the door, with the Isaacsons close behind. Sara took a moment to register all that had happened in the last few moments. 

“Did you understand all of that?” John asked, face screwed up as though he’d been forced to sit through the entire Ring cycle.

Sara couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head. “No. But I think the important thing is that Diana didn’t kill her husband or Joan.”

John smiled at her, a true smile, the smile she’d be happy to see directed towards her ten, twenty or fifty years from now.

Perhaps.

If they could pass one final hurdle.


	4. Must be the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People are complex,” Sara added, taking the opportunity. “Their motivations can be transparent or far more opaque than even they realize. Sometimes it takes time to understand why one does things at all."
> 
> Silence descended on them. Heavy and suffocating. 
> 
> “Oh enough of this all!” Sara hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but now it was out and both men were looking at her.

Sara took up her place outside the Commissioner’s office and began her daily tasks like some strange automaton. The reports and typing were neither taxing nor requiring much imagination, so she allowed her mind to wander. To consider her life as it was and how she now wished it to be. To ponder how to bridge the gap between the two. The only option that she could conceive of was to bring together Lazlo and John. She could do this slowly, over time, hoping that neither would notice her manipulations. It was unlikely, and deception was hardly right for the three of them. They’d come a long way, and she didn’t wish to see them regress. 

The only solution was to be upfront. She would be clear, with both of them. And see whether they were prepared to give her what she wanted.

  
  


*************************************

  
  


It was late in the day when Mr. Dunne was brought in. From the sound of his screaming he was dead drunk and cursing everyone’s mother. Sara could make out ‘Michael’ and ‘whore’ from it all, but little else as he was dragged down to the cells. When Commissioner Roosevelt returned to his office, he beckoned her inside.

“Michael Dunne was shot dead when he attempted to cut off the arresting officer’s arm at the cold store. Kreizler will be here in the morning for the interrogation. Is there anything that I need to know about him?”

The Commissioner was looking carefully at Sara, as if waiting for some admission. While his instincts were honed, she hoped he had been too preoccupied with the arrest to have picked up anything when he’d called on Lazlo.

“It seems evident that Mr. Dunne was both a drunk and a liar.”

“Very astute,” said Roosevelt, flatly. “And I see that you are becoming adept at avoiding questions that you do not wish to answer. Unfortunately I have known Kreizler for a number of years longer than you, and can spot that a mile off. Again, is there anything that I need to know?”

Sara had feared this. After all, one doesn’t become Commissioner without being able to read people. She tried a different tack. The truth.

“This case has been painful for Dr. Kreizler. The death of a strong-willed maid in the hallway of her home has stirred up unpleasant memories. It’s only been a year.” Each sentence was precisely truthful, even if none related to the others.

The Commissioner was unreadable. She waited for another push from him, and was surprised when none came. 

“Lazlo is gifted in many ways,” Roosevelt said slowly, his eyes firmly holding hers as though he hoped to burrow deep into her soul. “But it is in particular his way of understanding others, of feeling greatly what they do, that’s what makes him very successful. It is equally a curse, however, and he requires those around him to settle him, bring him out of those feelings. So long as he has these people, these anchors to the real world, he will be alright. Don’t you agree, Miss Howard?”

How in God’s name did he know? Had someone told him? Not John and certainly not Lazlo, so who? And, was he giving her permission? Encouragement? Sara’s mind raced, but her voice said only. “Yes, Commissioner.”

“It’s been a long day, Miss Howard. See that you’re up to date and then feel free to leave early. I have a lot of reading to do before tomorrow.” Entirely dismissed, Sara left to sit back at her desk, disturbed and lost in her thoughts. Only when the lamps began to be lit did she collect herself enough to leave. 

  
  


****************************

  
  


Sara called round to John’s house. There was still something fragile, impermanent about where they had left things, She hoped to find him there and determine what would next lie before her. 

John’s grandmother welcomed her into the parlor in complete contrast to their last encounter. She was smiling broadly, looking as though there was some shared secret between them. John always did wear his heart on his sleeve, and Mrs. Moore’s talk of seeing her much more often sealed it. “Beatrice has gone to fetch John and I’ve sent down for coffee. I find myself with a hundred things to do, and so I'll have to leave you alone.” The sly look again. Sara wondered just what John had told her. She supposed that she had somewhat proposed to him last night, but had hoped to talk over things with him before he announced it to the world.

Sara fixed a smile on her face before Mrs. Moore left, grateful to be given some space to breathe. It was short lived since John came charging in almost immediately, as though he’d run the length of the house. He may have done, as his cheeks were flushed. 

“Sara, I’m so happy to see you.” He leaned down to kiss her and she turned to present her cheek. 

“I’m glad to see you, too, John. I wanted to talk to you.”

John’s demeanor changed in an instant. He withdrew, looking as though he expected a beating and needed to protect himself. “About last night,” he said, cautiously.

“Yes. I wanted to talk about our future, and what our plans should be.” His eyes widened and the smile returned at the use of ‘our’. And it was true. She did want it to be their future. But not theirs alone.

“Of course, there will be arrangements to be made. I haven’t discussed our engagement with grandmother yet, but I suspect she realizes something is afoot.”

“John Moore, you have all the subtlety of a steam train.” Sara laughed, in part to release her nerves about the term ‘engagement’. “She probably knew everything the minute you walked in the door”

Finally John sat on the couch next to her, taking her hands in his. “I would tell the world, scream it from the highest bridges. But I haven’t, and I won’t, because that’s not what you want, is it.” It wasn’t a question from him, and Sara’s smile softened. She was wont to forget that for all his bluster, John was himself a perceptive man. 

“No, I...” she hesitated briefly, organizing her thoughts. “I want us both to know our plans before any announcement.”

“But you will marry me?” he asked, excitement in his voice tinged with lingering nerves.

Sara nodded “I want to marry you.”

John frowned. “But?”

Sara sighed. “We must discuss Lazlo.”

John let her hands drop, his defensive posture returning. “Of course we must. Heaven forbid anything in our lives not revolve around the lauded Dr. Lazlo Kreizler.”

Sara tried hard to keep her voice soft and entreating while her temper boiled. “If we cannot discuss something so important, ensure that we are of the same mind, then how can we share a life?”

John looked unconvinced. “So, shall I start? Did you enjoy kissing him? Was he good at it?” he snarled and Sara refused to baby him any longer. If they had a future, they would speak as equals. 

“I’d assume he is much as you remember.”

At once, the blood drained from John’s face. Sara truly feared he might faint, cursed herself for not biting her tongue, but it had to come out. Now was as good a time as any.

“What are you talking about?” John whispered, hoarsely. 

“He told me, John. Not everything, but enough.” 

“He had no right.” John’s voice was shaking and it was impossible to tell whether with anger or humiliation “No right to interfere, to try and steal-”

“Just as you have no right!” Sara hissed “No right to hide this from me. I don’t care that you and he were lovers. In fact, I feel I understand you both more now that this is in the open.”

“It’s not open, Sara. It was a dalliance, something that should never have happened!”

“Are you sure? Are you certain that he feels that way? Do you not feel anything for him when he looks at you as though a smile would nourish him for a week? Because I do. I feel for him.”

“That’s the point, Sara, he’s trying to ruin us. He wants you and I for himself, at his command.”

“If you truly believe that John Moore, then you’re more of a fool that I’ve ever believed you to be.”

John physically leaned away from her, shock coloring his face as she continued. 

“Lazlo feels for you still, John, just as I feel for you and for him. But you can’t see that because of your ridiculous jealousy. As though my affections are some finite resource that you wish to hoard”. 

“Sara, please,” his voice was pained, and Sara knew that this was cruel, much the same as pulling a thorn from a finger is cruel until it is out. 

“No John Moore, you will listen to me. You are well aware of my feelings for you, and these have not changed. What has changed, has deepened, is my affection for Lazlo. I have seen him in all his vulnerability with Mary and lately with you. And if I find that he shares these feelings, then I see no reason to refuse him. And I see no reason for you to refuse him either. 

“I, I” John stuttered. When he couldn’t continue, Sara braced herself for what could well be the killing blow.

“So that is how I will be going forth.” She stood to emphasize her point, and could barely look at John. To see him so torn by her actions twice in as many days was too much, but she owed him this. “I hope that you will be with me, but whatever happens you will _not_ command me.” Sara was stunned by her own words, scarcely knowing what she was saying before it left her mouth. She could feel a tear staining her face. Only these men could break her so thoroughly. 

“Sara, I cannot,” John said, shaking his head with a grave look to her. “What you’re asking is too much.“

Sara swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her. She breathed slowly in an attempt to remain composed. “And that is your decision, John. Just as this is mine. I shall see you at Lazlo’s, I’m sure.“

She left the house without a word. 

  
  


**********************

  
  


Sara called on Lazlo early the next morning. “The Commissioner informed me that you would be coming to the department. It seemed as easy for us both to go in one cab than in two.”

Lazlo was kind enough not to mention that she would likely have arrived at his home in a cab, going in the opposite direction. Instead he continued to finish off whatever work he was doing at his desk while Sara sat and waited. 

“Will you be able to make him confess,” she asked after he finished his writing. 

“I am convinced we shall. The final piece in the puzzle fell in place when officers arrested him at home. Even if he does not, we have enough to go to trial.”

“The Commissioner can’t take it to trial, Lazlo, the Dorners won’t allow it.” Sara reminded him.

He sat back in his chair, a queer smile on his face. “When was the last time you addressed me by anything other than my given name, Sara?” 

She was thrown by the non-sequitur. “I suspect quite recently, Dr. Kreizler”

The smile deepened, and for once it reached his eyes. “I remember. It was here, just before you visited the Dunne home. You caught yourself from calling me Lazlo. Even before then, the formality had become ever more rare. I find myself enjoying the increased familiarity between us. I hope that nothing we have done or may do will end it.” 

“I know that I would like to continue our present course of increased familiarity,” she said, carefully, and with that he rose to fetch his hat and coat.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm. She glared at him, trying to see if there was an underlying mockery, any hint of superiority. It surprised her to see none. He looked happy. A lightness she hadn’t seen in over a year, and barely even then. 

She took the proffered arm and accompanied him to the street outside, hailing a passing cab. “I am uncertain if John will join us.” she said, hoping fervently that she would be understood.

“John is his own man, and takes his time to adapt. I hope he will join us when he is ready.”

The cab arrived, with Lazlo directing the driver to their intended destination. “At the very least, I hope he will join us for our customary end of investigation dinner.”

Sara looked skeptically at him. “Customary? Since when?”

“Since today. Sadly the Isaacsons are busy, it being Friday, but I hope John will be there.”

 _You cunning fox of a man_ , Sara thought.

  
  


******************************

  
  


Sara sat quietly in the file room, next door to which Lazlo and the Commissioner were due to interrogate Mr. Dunne. She was ostensibly taking notes from a large sheaf of papers. Sergeant Macon, the all-but-retired officer in charge of the files, looked like he didn’t care what she was doing there, as long as she was quiet, but it helped her feel less obtrusive to have an apparent reason for her presence. 

The two rooms had once been one larger office, split cheaply with a thin wall as the department increased in size. By sitting in the alcove not covered with drawers, she was able to hear almost everything said in the adjoining room.

“Mr. Dunne, kind of you to join us.” The Commissioner's voice boomed loudly, far louder than normal. Lazlo wasn’t the only one experienced at making people uncomfortable. 

There was no reply, aside from a strange wet noise that Sara surmised was Mr. Dunne spitting. 

“Meet Dr. Lazlo Kreizler. He’s the reason you’re here.”

There was a scuffle and the ring of metal against metal followed by a loud thump and groaning. 

“I don’t recommend you do that again, Mr. Dunne. I may not be in West anymore but I’m perfectly happy to kick seven kinds of shit out of the likes of you.”

Sergeant Macon snorted, although quickly covered it with a cough as though remembering his manners. Sara smiled conspiratorially at him. She liked him. He didn’t treat her as some simpering woman, just another worker in this constant hive. 

“With respect, Commissioner, go fuck your mother.”

“Do you often think of intercourse with your mother?” Kreizler asked. It was hard to tell the exact tone, but Sara envisaged it said entirely straight-faced. More scuffling and another thud. No groan this time, perhaps he was being restrained?

“As I was saying Mr. Dunne,” and the Commissioner’s voice carried clearly through the divide “Dr. Kreizler here can prove that you not only killed your own daughter, but the Montroses as well. “

“And what the fuck does this sap know about anything?”

“Well, Mr. Dunne, I know many things. I know that Joan was killed in the Rosewood House ice house so that no-one would hear the gun, and her blood scraped off the floor the same way you do it at your workplace. I know that you dragged her upstairs and left her to rot in the hallway after she died. I know that you murdered Diana Montrose by forcing cyanide into her throat, and that she fought you and Michael by the fireplace while you did so. I know that you chilled her body in the same ice house where Joan had bled to death, and when James was on his way back, you thawed her out, hoping people would think she’d recently died. I even know that you rinsed her mouth with a strong cyanide mixture so that the police would smell it on her breath and assume suicide.”

There was a deathly silence. 

“Tell me, Mr. Dunne. Have I missed anything?”

“You can say anything, but unless you want to prove it in a court of law, you’ll be letting me go.” She could almost see the smug look on Mr. Dunne’s face. “Unless of course all the families are wanting their dirty laundry reported in every newspaper in the country.”

“You know, Dr. Kreizler, it’s so clear now that Michael really did get all the brains in the family. He was smart enough to kill himself.”

“He did no such thing, Michael was no sinner! Your man murdered him!” Dunne shrieked.

“Brains perhaps,” Lazlo replied, “but he was a coward. Couldn’t face the consequences.”

Dunne continued to scream and for a moment nothing could be made out as everyone spoke over each other. 

“IT WAS MY IDEA, YOU FUCKING SCUM!”

Silence followed the admission. Then Dunne spoke again. “May the devil take your souls, you arrogant bastards.” 

One of the Commissioner or Lazlo spoke, but too softly to make it through the wall. 

“Sure we killed her, but it was righteous. I follow God’s laws above man’s and if you hang me, God will welcome me with open arms.”

“Is that was this was, Mr. Dunne? Some honorable, pious act in obedience to God?” Even with all the chaos of Calum Dunne’s confession. Lazlo still sounded perfectly calm. Sara had often admired that about him. 

“Of course it was. Those sinners turned my daughter from God, even put a child in her. I had to save her soul.”

“And the child? What was his sin?”

The Commissioner’s voice rose as his questioning went on. Sara knew well how important his children were to him. She had wondered whether some of his frustration with the case was due to the death of the poor unborn boy.

“That bastard would have been born wrong. As I see it, this was a service to the city.”

“No, Mr Dunne. This was not about public service.” Roosevelt growled out “This was greed, pure and brutal _greed_.”

“We found the telegram.” Lazlo explained “I presume you found it in Rosewood House and pocketed it in your anger at the contents. It appears your wife is a most caring and thorough laundress, checking your pockets before washing.”

There was a soft noise that Sara guessed was Lazlo producing the telegram

“It was in a pile of papers on your table. ‘I am returning on the first train Monday. They shall not have a penny. Let them publish and be damned.’” he quoted. “Do you know where that phrase originates, Mr. Dunne? Lord Wellington, an English General, was blackmailed by a former mistress, and he refused her. This is how you knew when Mr. Montrose would reach his home, and when to warm up Mrs. Montrose’s body. But what you did not know was that the human body is a wonderful thing. It can tell us when someone died, even if it’s been frozen. The outside may look the same, but the inside is very different.”

It was a long speech, and Sara ached to be able to see the look on Dunne’s face as he was confronted with the pile of damning evidence against him.

“So you see, Mr. Dunne. We have everything. We even have your confession. And so you are going to plead guilty, forgo a trial, and go to your execution a quiet and penitent man.”

“Like fuck I will. I’ll tell everybody who can hear-”

“-And this is why.” Roosevelt interrupted “Your wife and family live in a Catholic neighborhood. Why, even as we speak she’ll be surrounded by loving neighbors, supporting her, grieving with her that her husband committed such a terrible crime in retribution for the shaming of your daughter by her employer. I will not correct that assumption. I will not tell anyone your real, disgraceful motive for killing your daughter. The motive that will cause your neighbors to shun your family. Leave them destitute.”

Sara held her breath. She had no real knowledge of Dunne, no idea whether his family meant enough to him. This was their only chance. 

“And what guarantee do I have? How do I know you’ll not tell the world once my body’s cold?”

“Because unlike you, Mr. Dunne, I’m a man of my word.”

The last words from Calum Dunne could barely be heard.

“I’ll do it.”

***************************************

  
  


The dinner had begun coolly, particularly when John realized the Isaacsons would not be joining them. Lazlo was seated at the head of the table, with Sara and John on either side of him. She could have laughed at the arrangement. If anyone should be between them it was her. Both figuratively and literally. It was also, therefore, she that would need to resolve this. 

“So he’s agreed?” John asked through a mouthful of sweet custard.

“He has. It turns out that for all his sins, Mr. Dunne does love his wife.” Lazlo said, staring fixedly at the table. It was a loaded statement in this situation.

“People are complex,” Sara added, taking the opportunity. “Their motivations can be transparent or far more opaque than even they realize. Sometimes it takes time to understand why one does things at all."

Silence descended on them. Heavy and suffocating. 

“Oh enough of this all!” Sara hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but now it was out and both men were looking at her. “I do not pretend to be the most experienced in matters of love and affection, John, but even I can tell that you harbor something for Lazlo even now.”

John cleared his throat. “Nonsense, Sara, Lazlo is a beloved friend and nothing more.”

“Nothing more? When even the mention of your previous time together struck you dumb yesterday? Why fool yourself when even I can see that?”

“Sara, please,” Lazlo said, firmly “I do not wish for John to be pushed like this.”

“Lazlo, sometimes John needs to be pushed.”

“She’s right.”

Now it was Sara’s turn to be shocked silent. She’d expected this to be the opening rally, not the final charge. And she was surprised to see how soft Lazlo was in response to John.

He reached forward gently, covering John’s hand and Sara thought she could see a conversation go between them despite neither saying a word. Eventually, Lazlo turned to her, covering her hand now. She refused to allow it, pulling back her chair. 

“Gentlemen, I think we’re beyond that now, are we not.”

John rose as she did, seemingly more out of habit than a conscious decision. She went to him first. Kissed him as she wished she’d felt free to back in the alleyway. Tried to show him that her passions were equal to his. She felt Lazlo brush past her and grabbed at his sleeve to keep him there, eventually turning to embrace him also. Her blood was rushing through her and even as she felt his mouth open she pressed on. 

“Together,” she breathed as they broke briefly. “Together or not at all.”

She returned her attention to John and licked his lips, enticing him to open as Lazlo had done with her just days before. He pushed against her, pressing her bodily into Lazlo as she felt Lazlo’s lips brushing down her neck. It was an embarrassment of riches, to be trapped between them. She barely noticed when one of John’s hands left her shoulder and pulled Lazlo in even closer. Her head lolled back against Lazlo’s shoulder for a moment before she realized that the two men had begun to kiss one another. 

She was far from forgotten however, as John’s free hand caressed her neck, and Lazlo’s wrapped tightly around her waist. It was time, she decided. She had read, and she had learned, but now it was time to experience. 

“Undress me,” she ordered to the room at large. 

John pulled back, looking to her to be sure while Lazlo began to pull at her dress.

“John, I said undress me,” she repeated, levelly. She was sure, and holding his gaze she witnessed with relief the moment he gave in to her.

“Upstairs, now,” John barked at Lazlo before kissing him once more. 

Yet as soon as the staircase was in front of her, Sara suddenly felt nervous. She knew what was coming, what she had demanded, but still this was new to her. She followed John as closely as his brisk pace would allow, and was comforted when she felt Lazlo kiss her neck, again. 

“We will look after you, dearest Sara”

She turned to kiss him, stopped only by John’s impatient urging.

“Will you get a move on!”

In a blur she was down to her chemise, John at her back, and Lazlo caressing her sides. He alternated between her and John with kisses so fierce she wondered if her lips would bruise. When he eventually guided her to sit on the bed, he looked almost playful. 

“I think John should take the lead,” he suggested. “After all, he has the most experience.” 

Sara smirked, almost giggling, despite herself, as she felt John tense up. 

“If by that you mean I’ve made women scream with pleasure, you are right. Do you think you’ll be able to do as you’re told, Lazlo?” 

Sara shook her head. “Enough, both of you. I’ll not have this sullied by bickering.” She kissed both, hard. “I may be the least experienced of you, but neither of you will bring me pleasure if your mouths are filled with spite.”

“Very well,” John agreed, a wicked grin across his lips, “Let me show you what else a man’s mouth may be filled with.”

He gestured to her to remove her chemise as he roughly pulled up the hem. “Lazlo, stay up there and keep Sara’s mouth busy, will you? I think it will be easier for both of us if you do.”

Lazlo pulled her down to lie on her back with him, his strong arm roving carefully across her skin while John’s hands caressed up her legs. Battle lines drawn, she felt entirely bewildered by the sheer amount of sensation.

She was learning a great deal about herself. Her neck seemed the most sensitive until Lazlo softly brushed his fingers against her nipples. She jerked at the touch, almost colliding with his nose. He pulled back and smiled at her, before dipping his head to touch first one then the other gently with the tip of his tongue. She couldn’t help the noise that escaped her, sounding more like an animal than any human utterance. He continued, pushing further until he had one nipple entirely enclosed within his mouth. Then his hand and tongue began to work in tandem, neither breast neglected.

Just as she could bear no more, she felt John spread her legs, his gentle fingers pressing down between them. He stroked her there, pleasantly, until he found something that made her gasp. 

“There we have it.”

Even without seeing his face she knew he was smirking. She would have to chide him about that, but the admonishment could wait, because now he was stroking that same spot and she could do nothing but continue to writhe below them both. Eventually the sensation between her legs changed and her moans became higher. It felt as though he was licking her. Why had no-one told her of any of this? Why had it taken John Moore of all people to show her such bliss was literally within her reach? It was all so overwhelming, too much. 

“John, stop, please, I can’t.” She stuttered out. Lazlo moved his mouth back to hers, whispering between kisses. “You can, dearest Sara.” “Allow it.” “I promise you.” “It’s wonderful.”

Even as she tried to resist she could feel a great pressure overcome her and she sobbed her pleasure even as John continued to use his mouth on her. She struggled to breathe as everything subsided, looked to see John crawling up the bed to kiss her, looked to Lazlo smiling happily at her. 

“I promised you.”

She was still too breathless to respond when John chimed in.

“I think you’ll find it was my work that had the desired effect, Lazlo.”

The remarks began to prickle at the elation she felt. “No more arguing." She murmured contentedly. "Kiss and make up.”

John laughed. “I think she’s serious,” Lazlo teased. 

“Hmm, should I allow my would-be wife to have command of me so early?” he bantered in return. 

“We’re chivalrous men, John. I think we should do what the lady asks.”

John leaned across Sara’s still shivering form to kiss him, yanking him up so both were on their knees across her. She summoned all her strength to pull herself up onto her arms for a better view. As her gaze lowered from their lips to their hands, she could see John’s pants were already around his knees, his cock-head pointing proudly upwards. He was undoing Lazlo’s fly as they kissed, and Sara decided that what was good for the goose was good for the gander. 

She reached forward carefully with her hand and stroked her fingers up and down John’s prick. He groaned like a wounded man into Lazlo’s mouth, drawing a laden breath. As John reached into Lazlo’s pants to pull him out, he curled his hand into a fist and pumped up and down. Sara followed suit until both men were moaning and gasping into each other’s mouths. She felt John twitch as she swirled a thumb at the head of his cock, but before she could repeat it he ejaculated, shooting white fluid across his own and Sara’s stomachs. She was fascinated by the sight of it, and was treated to Lazlo’s own reaction some seconds later. She did note that John kept pulling at Lazlo until after the semen had stopped. A lesson for her to learn. 

Both collapsed, spent, on either side of her as she sat up fully in the bed. John curled up with his head on her lap, Lazlo lying with his face pressed into her hip and one arm curled over her thigh, as though she might vanish if he didn’t stay in contact with her. 

She stroked the hair on both their heads as they drifted off to sleep. As soon as she could find a preventative, a reliable one, they would do this again. She had things she wished to try, and she knew now that these men beside her would indulge her whims, and in return she would indulge them. They would do as she told them, perhaps anything she told them. And she greatly looked forward to finding out how far they three would go.

It was reckless, this intimacy they shared. All would have to be careful for this to continue. They wouldn't have the excuse to be so close to each other that Joan, James and Diana had. But they would find a way, they had to. This fledgling relationship was already more dear to her than almost anything in her life. Sara would not lose this, and understood the passion of James' final telegram. As her lovers lay sleeping, she shared the protective sentiment. 

Any fool who came between them would truly be damned.


End file.
